


The Fourth, the Fifth

by Jawsforsure



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jawsforsure/pseuds/Jawsforsure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock/John inspired by the song "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen, however I listen to the hauntingly beautiful Jeff Buckley version.</p><p>References sexual assault, very veiled, but could be triggers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fourth, the Fifth

**Author's Note:**

> I own neither Sherlock, courtesy of ACD and the BBC, nor the song "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen.
> 
> Reference to sexual assault, could be triggers.

The Fourth, the Fifth

It's the words I want to say when we're alone, two words I chew and taste and turn over in my mouth before swallowing them deep into my stomach. Uncomfortable, too much of a mouthful at once, I know this taste, I've swallowed them a hundred times before.

(I've seen this room and I've walked this floor)

You've seen me broken and vulnerable and lost and afraid and angry and ecstatic and the worst of me and the best of me, (she tied you to her kitchen chair and broke your throne) but I feel like this is asking too much. This is more than any person should carry, this is taking all you have to offer and throwing it down an empty abyss, the chasm in me.

So I am keeping the burden from you. I'll protect you from my glitter-edged shards.

But while every molecule and fibre and connective tissue and cell screams for me to keep silence and protect you and what we have and myself most of all, the dry-bitter-powdery taste of the words I swallowed lingers. And they want to be spoken in the cold air of your bedroom, and freeze to ice before they shatter to the floor (it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah).

Undress me. 

Undress me, John. 

And you'd look at me with wide eyes as I stand before your bed and look up through my lashes, already regretting the words that broke everything like a mallet through a mirror. And I'd stammer an apology and plead temporary insanity and leave before you could react.

But maybe, just maybe, if I was a braver man (love is not a victory march) I'd let the rest of the words come out too, cool crisp clear frozen waterfall, drench you with words and my iced-over broken love (cold and broken).

Undress me. I want you to undress me. Unclothe me layer by layer. Gently remove the buttons from their sheaths, dangerous now they're not safely holding my clothes together. Let me shiver as you shed off the thick outer layers and I'll rub my hands over the goose-bumps that rise, half cold and half fear through my thin shirt.

What am I afraid of? (All I ever learnt from love). I trust you with my life and my sanity and my delicate little-seen places and every last piece of my body and I'd give you a kidney because I know you'd treat it well, as you'd treat every extension of me.  But I'm porcelain, I'm glass, I'm a burnt-out house barely standing and my defences are extensive (it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah). 

And yet.

And yet, against all odds I trust you implicitly and perfectly and I entrust my body and my mind and my heart into your care. And I'd trust you, to do this, to hurt me to heal me (the minor fall and the major lift) and I'd raise my arms above my head.

And you'd slide the last of my clothes off with silent awe, sitting on the edge of your bed like a man praying for strength. And in the half light of your lamp, run your eyes over me, my naked, unclothed, vulnerable, nothing but skin (you saw her bathing on the roof) not touching, not speaking. 

But then you'd move. 

Soft as a feather, coiled lithe grace like a panther, you'd slough off my thick skin and leave it on your bedroom floor (and she cut your hair). Gently tear off the bandages over my heart and wipe away the dried blood, avoid the bruises others have left on my body, not a blank canvas for you but soiled, torn, bruised and cracked. I wish I could present you with the gift of me, fresh and clean and beautiful but I lost that a while ago (I used to live alone before I knew you).

And it wouldn't matter to you.

You'd take me into your strong arms, and lie onto your pillows easy as waking,  then tuck me into the hollow between your neck and clavicle. Breathe kisses into my curls and whisper the words I'd know were truth (from your lips she drew the) by the thud-thud-thud of your kind honest heart as it would reverberate through my skull. Just my raw bare skin on yours, smarting against the cotton of your shirt and stinging like antiseptic in a wound.

But you're not just my antiseptic, you're my surgery, delving deep into the damage and excising the cause (seen your flag on the marble arch) and leaving me panting with pain, sliced to the bone but healing slowly, glacially, the speed of continental drift. 

You'd cage me with your strong hands, delicate but firm, holding me like a bird, hammering heart against your palm, won't let me fly away. Smooth them across my skin, soothe the pain and send flames simmering in its wake, rushing   in the spaces around my nerves (the moonlight overthrew you). 

So I'd be naked in front of you, stripped to my vulnerabilities and harsh truths and flaws, all my masks on the floor and my body and soul laid bare before you (you saw her bathing on the roof.)  
   
And you'd kiss me.

Warmth unravelling like an old sweater, unthreading down my thighs and into the tips of my toes, lips pressing into my skin as if you could burn the hate and pain and suffering out with enough force. If heat were enough, you'd wipe my slate clean, you burn hotter than the Sahara, make me dizzy with it. And one day you may burn it out of me with love and passion and something else (I heard there was a secret chord). 

But not tonight.

Tonight you'd merely turn my bones to liquid and expand my heart until it stretches my chest and string desire like coloured lights across my body (what's really going on below) and make me feel. You'd stop my mind and silence my thoughts and burn the world before you hurt me.

So I wouldn't be able to resist any longer, the all-consuming desire for you (from your lips she drew the hallelujah).

And if I can't give you me untouched and unsullied (baby I've been here before) I could give you me stripped to the bone and unprotected and in love.

(Remember when I moved in you.)

The sugar-spun sweetness and smoothness of your teeth, harmless and gentle as we kiss in the warm bed. Wet, openmouthed, so intimate I could cry (and every breath we drew was hallelujah). 


End file.
